This idea originally started off as a short story thing I wanted to write for fun, and it evolved into a GTA fic because...I don't really know. I'm on a fanfic writing binge I really need to get out of.
Anyway, I promise, after the first two chapters, the following chapters won't be so 'by the book'. I figured one of the ways to throw a new character into things was through a heist. The Paleto Bay Score was one of my favourites, mostly due to the cut scenes you will see here. (And, come on, that mini-gun.)
I'm going to stop talking and let you read.
Warnings: Strong language, violence, sexual situations. Rated the way it is for a reason.
In The Game
It had to have been the smallness of the room.
There was also the fact that it was unnecessarily warm and, even without clothes, it made it difficult to even just sit in the room. Though, combined with an overly active brain, the small and stuffy room put forth a sense of dreaded anticipation, like she was waiting for the familiar face to walk through the door once again.
He's fucking dead, I killed him, she told herself as she pulled on her jeans as she found them. Wrapped that hose around his neck, pulled until I felt the pop.
There was the fact that the other one, the one that she kept having to shove into the back into her mind, the man who played a rather prominent character in her nightmares, had gotten away. Though, she was sure it wouldn't matter now, she had gotten as far away from that place as she could. Pulling up the zipper of her jeans, she let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, wiping away some of the sweat dotting her forehead.
It wasn't long before she was fully dressed, the stressed out woman trying not to jump when her phone went off.
"Shit,"she cursed to herself, pulling out her phone and silencing the ring. She took a glance at the man in the bed, who was still dead to the world. A frown crossed her face at the message that had appeared on her phone, and deepened slightly at the time sent. A little past noon, which surprised her, seeing as she assumed it was still early morning, judging from the darkness of the room. Shaking her head, trying to wake herself up a little more, she clicked open the message.
Listen, I remember you telling me that you were looking for money, and I might just have a job for you. We are running a score, and we already have a main gunman, but if you want to prove your word, we could use another gun on getaway. The score's up in Paleto Bay.
The message was followed by an address, Jen rubbing the back of her neck. She wasn't too keen on picking up a gun, but she really would like to buy her own little run down apartment so she wouldn't have to sleep in a stranger's, usually at the catch of sleeping with them as well.
Still, fuck, Paleto Bay is quite the drive...
Letting out a sigh through her nose, she clicked on the button beside the message and typed up a reply.
Funds are running short. Count me in.
Taking a mental note of the address, and deleting the messages, she closed the door behind her quietly, putting another shameful night to rest.
"It-It's not inappropriate!"
"It's another one of your fucking disasters, that's what it is!"
There were a few things that Jen had been expecting, standing on the second floor of what she was certain was a meth lab, if the equipment in the attached room said anything. She had been expecting a few things, one of which wasn't to be standing on the second floor of a meth lab, and not to be walking in on what appeared to be a heated argument between Michael, whom she recognized right away, and another man, who she didn't get to look at long enough as he darted back into the other room.
"First you take a hostage against my advice," Michael continued, following the other man into the connected room, Jen walking up to the other people in the room with a look of confusion on her face, "then you start some crazy high school romance with her? Are you nuts!?"
"She's..." the other man started, but was cut off by Michael as he walked back into the main room.
"She's a sixty-year-old housewife!"
"She's fifty-seven!" the other man yelled, following after Michael, looking almost ready to start throwing things, "and...she thinks I'm mature!"
"Yeah? Well, let me tell you something! Thirty years of marriage to the world's angriest mob boss will make anyone insane!" Michael replied, Jen noticing the young man to her right looking like he was growing annoyed as the two older men walked back into the connecting room.
"You're not making my situation any easier!" Michael continued.
"Oh, there's a surprise! I knew it would become about you!"
"I miss my family!" Michael shouted back at him.
"You're so full of shit! All you ever did was ignore them, and now that their gone, you miss them! Fucking incredible."
"Fucking incredible. I'll tell you what's fucking incredible, motherfu-"
"Hey! Hey!" the young man beside Jen interrupted, both men coming back into the main room, "You got me out here! You wrote me into your crazy world of bullshit! If it was lies, New Age shit, and arguments about how good things used to me, I could have stayed my ass in Los Santos!"
"I second that," Jen said, raising her hand slightly, having already lost her interest in the argument the moment a hostage was mentioned.
"Who the fuck is she?" the other man asked, giving her a stare that damn near put Jen's fight-or-flight instinct into gear. He was a lean looking man, partly balding on the top of his head, and had a number of cuts and scars on his face.
"Oh, shit, right," Michael said, gesturing towards the woman in question, "this is Jen, she's here to help cover Franklin's ass, and ours, on the getaway. Glad you could make it. That asshole over there is Trevor."
"Yeah," Jen said with a nod, looking away from Trevor to look at Michael as he continued.
"Here's the shot," Michael said, the rest of the group looking towards him, "we're going to Paleto Bay to do this thing. Questions? Comments?"
"Uh, yeah," Trevor said, raising his hand, "I miss Brad. That crazy motherfucker was here with us now, he would have loved this. Instead he's got to enjoy himself molesting white collar criminals in a federal penitentiary."
"Thanks for sharing," Michael said, sounding irritated, "anybody else?"
"What 'bout me?" Franklin asked, pausing, glancing over at Jen, "uh, us?"
"You'll be waiting in the river on getaway," the man with the laptop said, Franklin glancing towards Jen, who nodded her understanding.
"Yeah, alright," Franklin agreed with a nod.
"These three go in," the man continued, pointing at Trevor, Michael, and another man at the table, who Jen guessed was the main gunman, as he stood with the help of a cane, "they grab the take, and rendezvous with the both of you once their out of there. That work for everyone?"
"Great, let's go," he continued after everyone nodded their agreement.
"So, ever hit a bank before, Franklin?" Trevor asked once everyone was settled into the white van, Michael and Franklin up front, Trevor, Jen, and the gunman in the back. Jen sat on the floor, shoved between the corner and Trevor. While she tried not to be obvious about it, even dressed in a suit, there was a certain odour to Trevor that made it rather unpleasant to be in close proximity of him.
"Yeah," Franklin replied, "I was the driver on a job my boy, Lamar, pulled. Guess it's the same shit we doin' now, right?"
"Nice, bro. What was the take?" Trevor asked, Jen glancing up at Franklin, who was sitting in the passenger seat.
"Shit, I don't know, man. I don't remember."
"Come on, everyone remembers their first score."
"Well, shit, not me," Franklin said, attempting to end the conversation. Trevor looked at Michael, turning his attention to him.
"Mikey, bro, what was your first bank score?"
"Eighty-eight, outskirts of Carcer City," Michael replied, sounding somewhat smug, "took a small franchise for ten G. Eh, things were easier back then."
"Yeah, twenty-five years ago. Jesus," Trevor said, looking across the back of the van towards the gunman that Jen still had yet to learn the name of. Though, she doubted that she would be seeing either of these guys again after this.
"You. Generic goon. What was your first bank score?"
"Okay, we doin' this?" 'Generic Goon' asked, his eyebrows pulling together as he thought, "Robbin' stash spots don't count, I guess. Let me think, first real lick...Alright, yeah! Armoured car. Homes broke down in East Los, you know what I'm saying? They had it coming."
"How much did you take?" Michael asked.
"Two hundred," he paused, a smile crossing his face, "thousand."
"Oh!" Michael exclaimed, chuckling, "Big dog! First time out?"
"Had to send most of it up the ladder, yo. Reppin' Vagos. Yeah, so, that's when I went independent."
"Man, I hear you on that one," Franklin said, sounding sympathetic. Jen caught Trevor glancing over at her from the corner of her eye, making her turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow.
"Well, Miss Silence," he said, "what was your first score?"
"Don't have one," she said with a shrug, scratching the side of her cheek awkwardly.
"Wait, you're saying this is your very first gig?" Trevor asked, Jen nodding her head, crossing her arms and looked over at Michael when Trevor looked at him, "you hired a complete fucking newbie, Mike?"
"Hey, she ain't going in with us," Michael said, "she told me she could shoot a gun. Jen, why don't you tell us about that, huh?"
"What's there to say? I come from your typical wilderness junkie family. My brother and I got rifles placed in our hands the moment we were old enough to handle them. Though, when my brother and I left, we didn't use them for hunting. My brother had a knack for pissing people off, and there were many nights were he would pull me up to the roof of the cabin, him with a sniper, me with a pistol, and... Let's just say I know how to use a gun, yeah?"
"Sounds to me like a night of good target practice!" Trevor said, causing Jen to huff and lean back against he wall of the truck. "Alright, your turn to share, kid!" he said, bringing his attention back to Franklin, who sighed.
"I told you. I don't remember the details, man."
"Leave him alone, Trevor," Michael said, coming to Franklin's aid, but Trevor wouldn't let up.
"This is an important moment, Michael. Here we are, on our way to our most certain deaths, bonding, pouring our hearts out, and he's just sitting here, soaking it up, while giving nothing in return."
"Hey, if he don't remember..."
"If he don't remember? I'm supposed to trust this man with my life, and he can't trust me with the details of his first bank job?"
"Well, how about you?" Michael asked, "Why don't you share with the group? I'm here, I'll back the facts."
"That cashed checks place? I went in, took em' for eight grand, walked out," Trevor explained, Jen looking up at Michael when she heard him chuckle.
"Yeah. It was a bit more complicated than that, wasn't it, T?"
"Maybe I knew the guy. Maybe he I.D'd me."
"Maybe you did six months."
"Maybe I was out in four, and that's why, children, we don't leave witnesses."
"That, children, is why you don't rob people that you know!" Michael exclaimed, letting out a laugh.
Jen had to fight back the smirk, though it wasn't that hard to do when she remembered what Trevor had said before Michael's retort. We don't leave witnesses. She frowned, shaking her head slightly as she pressed her hand against her temple.
Focus on the job at hand, she told herself, we can worry about that fucker coming after us later, maybe in bed, like we do every fucking night.
"Franklin," Trevor said, sounding irritated, "share."
"Yeah, come on kid, it can't be worse than Trevor's!" Michael said, looking over at Franklin.
"Alright, man, shit," Franklin said, "The score was like two stacks, man."
"2G take home on your first gig?" Michael asked, "Fuck, that ain't bad, man."
"Man, the whole score was two stacks," Franklin clarified, shaking his head, "Only, I didn't see any of that shit. The dye pack went off, homie. The money was useless, then."
"Dye pack?" Trevor asked, leaning back as he let out a high pitched laugh, "You amateur!"
"I knew I shouldn't have told you shit!" Franklin said, Jen giving him a sympathetic smile, even if he couldn't see it.
"Hey, Franklin, we all gotta start somewhere," Michael said.
"Last time I tell you somethin'," Franklin muttered, the conversation dying down for a few moments before Trevor spoke up again.
"Ah, come on. Don't be so cold, man. Learn to laugh at yourself! You're in danger of turning into that man."
"Who, me?" Michael asked.
"Yeah, you. Wouldn't laugh. Wouldn't hang out," Trevor paused, breaking out into an impression of Michael, "'I've got my work, I've got my life, never the two shall meet.' If we are risking our asses, we gotta be family. How 'bout that, Dye Pack?"
"Man, fuck you," Franklin snapped, shaking his head, "sense of humour..."
"Hey, let's just do this thing, alright?" Michael said, pulling into a street near the bank, stopping the car, "Alright, Frank, Jen. We're gonna drop you up here. When you hear it kick, get ready, because we're gonna wanna go ASAP."
Jen stepped out of the back of the truck, shutting the door and walked over to Franklin, who was reassuring Michael that he knew what he was doing. Jen managed to catch Trevor shouting something as Michael drove off, making Franklin shake his head as he handed her a gun.
"Come on, we don't want to be standin' around when that shit goes down," Franklin said, starting to walk down towards the bay, glancing back at her. "So, this really your first gig, huh?"
"Yeah," Jen said, rolling her eyes, "wasn't really wanting to share it with everybody, but..."
"Eh, dog, it's cool. Couldn't have picked a better crew for your first score. Long as you're true to your word and will cover my ass."
"I'll cover your ass," Jen said with a chuckle, "It's what I'm getting paid for. Hopefully I won't have to do so again. If the pay from this is good, maybe my first score will be my last."
"Yeah, or you get us both capped," Franklin said, "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I got it, you just work on the getaway."